I wish I had walked around naked from 24-34, as insecure as I felt then. We never know what we have until it is gone, right? I had inverted abs and a V-line and thigh gap and thought I was fat. I got picked on for wearing crop tops… I knew what my best body part was OK??! I didn’t do anything to deserve that body other than starve. Starving wasn’t always easy… I ate one meal a day, and it was whatever I wanted. I’d eat a burger and fries, a piece of cake. But If I had any sort of social obligation where I knew I would have to eat (a lunch with friends, Mother’s Day brunch), I would be in a mental battle of how to make the trade off happen.
I usually ate my one meal a day at home, after work. I would hate myself if I had to eat two meals in one day… I would feel like a failure. I would mentally beat myself up, and starve myself harder the next day. I lived this way for 10 years off and on (mostly on). I never ate breakfast (still don’t), never ate lunch at work (people would question my choice of an extra large iced coffee), and didn’t snack.
I was miserable and on-edge all the time. I’d cry at the drop of a hat, go fucking crazy over a poorly communicated text, want to die if someone didn’t answer a phone call, and thought about food and my body 24/7. I was always hungry and fixated on food 24 hours a day, thinking about my next (and usually only) meal. What was I going to cook for dinner? What was I going to order if I had to go to a restaurant? I would study the menu and plan my order in advance. I am not lying – I thought about food all day long. From the moment I woke up, at work for 8 hours, and as I ate.
I was fucking obsessed. If I went to bed hungry (which was more nights than not), I would dream of food. I would make plans to starve for like three days, and then eat at a buffet, or plan for a weekend of take-out and drinks.
I wore crop tops and skin tight pleather leggings, and looked great… I was envied. In retrospect, I envy myself back then. But at the time, I was never happy. I still thought I was fat when I saw pictures, I was miserable any time I had a social obligation and had to change my daily diet to accommodate a birthday dinner with family or friends or make room for a holiday; I went crazy over nothing and cried over nothing, because every amount of self-will and emotional control was invested in maintaining thinness and my daily diet (or lack thereof). When something went wrong or came up unexpectedly, I couldn’t handle the extra emotion or change or challenge and would go off the deep end. My brain and body were starved.
I don’t think I ever looked sickly. The only people who questioned my thinness were close friends and family who knew me my whole life and saw the weight loss happen in real time between 22-24. Also, people would see me drunk and eat a tray of fries and not question anything (they didn’t know that was the only thing I ate all day).
I also worked retail for a large chunk of those years, and did floor sets. I was on my feet all day, and lifting heavy fucking shelves and pushing heavy carts and carrying heavy boxes. I was thin and ripped and it was part of my job. I was too ugly to work at Hollister/Abercrombie… it’s how I ended up in the stock room and doing floorsets. That also affected my confidence… I wasn’t pretty enough for the salesfloor.
Anyhow. I digress. I lived this fucked up life of obsession and guilt over eating for like 10 years of my life. Then one day, I started having lunch, I started having snacks, I started eating when I was hungry. I also was less active during this time, as I was working corporate and working from home multiple days a week. I was also in my late 30s. I started gaining weight and wanting to die. I always wanted to die… but now I’m fat, so it is much worse.
Starving myself for two days or doing drugs and skipping dinner was no longer enough to drop 5 lbs overnight the way it was at 28. I started eating the cake at work functions, and saying “yes” to happy hour with colleagues or dinner with friends, AND still eating lunch before dinner. I stopped beating myself up for having tacos after a night of drinking, or starving for a week in advance of Thanksgiving. It feels good to enjoy drinks and food with friends and family… it feels freeing.
But what doesn’t feel freeing, is the fact that 00 pants no longer fit, and my once 22-inch waist still fits into a size 24 jean, but the fat spills over the sides of the waist and I have to do karate moves to get the pants over my thights (I was never skinny-skinny… I had a small waist but still had 35 inch hips when I was 100 lbs).
I feel more free in the sense that I don’t want to die after eating two slices of pizza at 11PM, but I want to die when I realize I went from 00 and v-lines to fat pads on my hips and fat on my stomach (that wasn’t there for 36 years of my life).
I got sloppy. I should have kept starving and suffering. I should have kept denying myself. I should have kept hating myself for eating. I am a failure. I am lazy and undisciplined. I want to die in other ways than I did for being sad because I was going through my first break up. I feel unworthy and unloveable. I feel unattractive. I don’t feel sexy.
But I didn’t at 93 lbs either. I was miserable. Why can’t we just enjoy the ride that is life without focusing on these shells that carry our souls? My body isn’t me. Your body isn’t you. I’ve met thin “beautiful” people who are rotten to there core, and people most wouldn’t think of as “beautiful” until they got to know them, because they actually are beautiful people – they smile and light up your life, they laugh and make you laugh, they are kind and they listen to you and they make a difference in this work and in the lives of others – they are truly beautiful.
Fuck this world.
The High Heeled C*ntessa 